


carry on, jon

by pandizzy



Series: Quints au. [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark Daenerys Targaryen, Dark Rhaegar Targaryen, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Angst, I mean, Jon Snow and Sansa Stark Are Not Related, The Targaryens are its own warning, Wildling Jon Snow, or some shit, they are sixtyth cousins, who cares
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-01-30 21:18:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21434851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandizzy/pseuds/pandizzy
Summary: Taking five teenagers south of the Neck for his grandmother's funeral is not entirely easy, Jon has found.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: Quints au. [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1363444
Comments: 71
Kudos: 89





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess what. the quints are fourteen years old now BECAUSE I CANT KEEP PROMISES.
> 
> just kidding. i really wanted to write something of them as teenagers, being a teenager myself, and this turned out to be the perfect excuse. also i really wanted jon to hold a conversation with dany's child, but as it turns out, two years old are very boring to talk to.

** _SEASON 4 OF RED WOLF HAS BEEN ANNOUNCED (WITH PROMOTIONAL PICTURES)_ **

_ After a particularly quiet year, HBO has officially announced the new season of Red Wolf, a non-fictional reenactment of the reign of Sansa I, the first queen to reign in the North in her own right. Running since 1029 A.C., the show has quickly garnered a cult following, receiving praise from its strong female characters and attention to historical details. The cast, made up in its majority by northern actors, has also received world-wide approval by their work, especially since many were unknown south of the Neck before its release. Alayne Stone, the actress who portrays Sansa, has won over five awards in various events, and the actor portraying Jon Snow, Jim Frost, is not far behind. _

_ The fourth season will chronicle the birth of Sansa's eldest child and her strained relationship with her younger brother, Brandon Ravenstark, now King of the Six Kingdoms, as well as the war between the two realms that would culminate in the end of their correspondence (up until then, Sansa and Brandon maintained a monthly exchange of letters, hoping that talk would maintain the peace). . There is also speculation that Arya, a fan-favorite character and sister to queen Sansa, will return as, in real life, she came back from exploring the world before her nephew was even born. Arya's actress, Bethany Williams, was unable to appear in season three as her schedule with her new tv show, Doctor Who, made her way too busy to shoot. Her absence was explained with a prolonged trip to Essos. _

_ As some of you may remember, season three ended in a high note for our favorite Stark. She was queen, her reign was secure and, after nearly thirty episodes of sexual tension, she and Jon Snow finally consumed their relationship in a tense and sensual sex scene that has attracted attention and positive critics by explicitly showing Sansa having an orgasm at the hands of her lover, something not many shows are willing to do these days. _ _ The final scene at the finale showed Sansa Stark telling Jon that she was carrying his child, now known to be Athos Stark. _

_ As some of the North may know, Athos and his siblings, Eddara and Rodrik, were born to an unmarried mother, and so, their father was unknown although a lot of contemporary gossips attributed their births to a series of visits made by Moryn Royce to the queen ten months before the children’s gossip. Currently, we know that to not be possible — Moryn preferred the company of men —, and a popular theory as of this decade is that Jon Snow, Lord Commander of Castle Black and Sansa’s first cousin. Though it could be easily proven with a DNA test between Jon's remains and his sons, all three are interred in the Ruins' crypts, but the Stark family has refused to give permission for such exam and, since they are still the legal owners of the Ruins, we are forced to obey their wishes. Some speculation over the past few years has wondered why such denial, many believe that if it were true, the Starks could lose their footing in the North's politics, as Targaryens are not entirely popular here and Jon himself was half-Targaryen, but Ned Stark, a former governor and head of the family, has said and I quote, " _My foremother has been dead for over eight hundred years and she did not wish for people to know who the father was. I wish only to respect her wishes. Besides, it would do no good to meddle with the dead and buried."

_ Four years have passed since the premiere of Red Wolf, it's very first scene being of Sansa escaping her husband, Harrold Hardyng, and riding north to her half-brother, Jon Snow, and many viewers have fallen in love with the couple at almost first sight. Their mutual respect and admiration gathered a large following, making the Jonsa tag on social media, _ Tumblr, _to trend for over two days. Though not an unknown ship to historical fans, Jonsa has mostly attracted attention due to the tv show and many decide to forgo the historical implications in favor of watching the two slowly fall in love over the years. Jon's romance with Daenerys Targaryen in season two was met with distaste and anger, with many celebrating her descent into madness and death in the season finale. Even Daenerys' actress, Alys Flowers, has declared her love for Jonsa._

_Last night, HBO's twitter account posted the following picture, along with the date of the premiere of the new season, the eighth day of the ninth month of this year, 1033:_

_ _

_Image description: Alayne Stone, with Jim Frost standing behind her. Alayne is holding a newborn babe and a coronation orb, while Jim Frost seems to be touching her waist. They are both dressed as their characters, Sansa Stark and Jon Snow._

_What are your thoughts and what do you expect to see in this new season? Comment down below!_

_LOTS OF LOVE._

_\- jonsaismyqueen_

** _Other articles you might enjoy:_ **

10 SCENES THAT MADE ME FALL IN LOVE WITH JIM FROST'S JON SNOW

BEST PORTRAYALS OF SANSA OVER THE YEARS (INCLUDING BESS HARDYNG'S PLAY!)

WHY JON SNOW IS THE FATHER OF QUEEN SANSA'S CHILDREN (UPDATED)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to katya, @flibbertigiblet, for making the edit for me! YOU ARE AMAZING!
> 
> not the start i was planning, but what i managed to write and i was too anxious to post to even think too much about it


	2. Jon I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heart racing, Jon calls his sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm so proud of myself! I wrote this entire chapter today! THAT NEVER HAPPENS

_"Hey, Jon, I'm stuck at work and it doesn't seem that I will be able to get out anytime soon. Can you pick up the kids from school, please? I'll text them to let them know. Thanks, love."_

It’s not usual that he picks up the quints from school. Not so rare that he forgets the address, or how to move around the building. Sansa’s work schedule is flexible enough to allow her to leave at least an hour before their day is over, but sometimes, when she is traveling or ill, Jon takes up the mantle, although it has been quite some time since any of it has happened. Maybe two, or three years, but Jon doesn’t care about it. His work schedule is also quite flexible and, on that particular day, he only had morning classes, leaving his afternoon and evening completely free to take care of them. They are his children as well. His responsibility.

So, parked in front of their institute, Jon taps his fingers against the steering wheel, bobbing his head lightly to the rhythm of the music. He is inclined to turn it up, this is one of his favorite songs after all, but, before he can, the school's bells ring and the big blue doors open, a wave of teens and preteens walking out of their prison for the past five hours. The _Lonely Hills Institute_, a school insisted by Ned Stark for all of his grandchildren due to its long history of forming respectable members of northern society, has a strict dress code and a uniform made obligatory to all. No one is given a reprieve and a break of said dress code can result in a suspension.

His sons always leave the house wearing checkered, cotton trousers that reach down to just below their ankles and reveal their sporty loafers, all of which are colored black. They're paired with short, thinly dotted socks colored white. A white long-sleeved shirt is tightly stuffed inside their trousers and covered with a dark blazer and a navy sweater, though the second is more optional, especially during less cold weathers such as the current summer. A fine tie drops freely down the middle of their buttoned-up blazer, colored black. The girls wear pleated skirts in blue that dangle down to just below their knees. They're paired with striped socks and mary janes shoes colored in navy and black respectively. Like their male counterparts, the girls wear long-sleeved shirts, which are usually seen neatly hanging inside their skirts and are covered with a basic black blazer. They too wear a tie that strictly dangles inside their buttoned-up blazers, though theirs is striped in the school’s colors.

All blazers have the school symbol, a quartered symbol of an iron crown, a running direwolf, a black battle-ax, and a white sunburst on the breast pockets, symbolizing the union between royalty and two northern houses that would join hands to start the school. His daughters often wear small earrings and their initials necklaces, simply in an attempt to have an individuality amongst so many equals. Jon would be lying if he said he doesn’t approve of their boldness.

At first, when the quints were five years old and they were looking for a school, Jon didn’t want them to study at the Lonely Hills Institute. He’d rather have his children in a liberal school, where they could be, well, children. He argued about money and semantics, but after his father-in-law offered to pay their tuition and Sansa, who agreed with the former governor, got a promotion that liberated her work time enough to drive them to and from school, he had no more fight inside of him.

The fact that the place has kindergarten all the way to high school didn’t exactly help.

He sees Bo first, school bag in hand as he walks alongside Mya. They are talking amongst themselves, gesturing wildly with their long arms, and Jon watches them in silent, not really wanting to call their names and disrupt their friendliness. His two eldest look very much alike, in a way that no one can deny that they are siblings. They have the same round eyes, the same pouty lips, the same dark curls framing their long faces, though Mya’s are much lighter, a true brown, not to be mistaken with black like her brother’s. The two have been close since their diaper days, thick as thieves, and Sansa often refers to them as ‘boy-girl twins’.

Amma and Alys come afterward, long auburn hair, darker than their mothers. Unlike their brothers, the girl twins have become more and more identical over the years, becoming almost the same person and, quite frequently, switching places to confuse and mess with others, especially their teachers. As headstrong teenagers, both have refused and fought against their mother’s attempts to give them different haircuts, if only to help others to differentiate them. Jon thinks they like to look exactly alike.

He notices that Amma is wearing her noise-canceling headphones, stretching and moving her fingers at her sides, and he wonders if she is practicing her piano lessons right then and there. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. His daughter’s entire life is based around music and her perfectly pitched ear. Alys, however, seems scornful, whispering to herself and closing her hands into fists.

The passenger’s door opens and Torrhen gets inside the car, “Hey, dad.”

Jon tries not to show his surprise, but, with how carefree he is with his emotions, he suspects he has failed miserably. He had not seen his second son coming. Thankfully, Torrhen is not looking at him, preferring instead to push his sketchbook inside his black backpack. Torrhen’s long fringe falls on his eyes, protected only by the blue-rimmed glasses, and he sweeps it aside, annoyed.

“Hey,” he says, “How was school?”

“It was fine,” Torrhen answers, laying back, “I got an A on my chemistry test.”

Jon smiles and a sense of pride rush through him. His children’s accomplishments are his accomplishments.

Mya and Bo are the next to enter, pushing each other inside the car in one of their violent games. The two quickly discard their sweaters and blazers, with Bo loosening his tie just enough to pass it over his head.

“Hi, kids,” he says, driving their attention to him.

“Hi, dad,” Brandon says and his sister bends over Jon’s seat to give him a quick peck on the cheek. He smiles. Mya has always been a daddy’s girl, “What happened to mom?”

“She had some trouble at work,” Jon answers just as Amma opens the door, taking the final seat at the second row and Alys is stuck at the third and final row, too far for his eyes to see her without the rearview window, “But we will be fine. She’ll come home before dinner, I’m sure.”

“I sure hope so!” Alys says, all the way from the back, and Torrhen snickers besides Jon. He tries not to roll his eyes, or even to be offended. His children often make jokes about his culinary ability or lack thereof, and he is used to it. Almost.

“Buckle up, everyone.”

The drive home is silent, or as silent as a car can be with five teenagers. Halfway through, Alys finally voices her complaint that Amma is not seating next to her, and the other girl, in an attempt to placate her sister, tries to change seats without leaving the car, or even wait for it to stop. Mya accidentally kicks Torrhen’s seat and he slaps her face, which makes her angry enough to kick it again and again and again. Brandon laughs, putting on his earphones, and Jon feels himself boiling over, trying very hard not to snap at them. Sansa deals with this every day? Gods, he should buy her more flowers.

It’s a relief when they finally arrive at their farm, not just for the quints but for him as well. Jon doesn’t know how, but for some reason, they have become more of a handful than when they were toddlers and he and his wife were attempting to potty train them. Where did his adorable five little kids go?

Amma and Alys are the first to leave, quickly running inside, and Torrhen follows them, leaving his jacket inside the car. Bo and Mya do the same and Jon grabs their leftover clothes, exasperated, and drops them on the floor in front of the garage door. They can find them later if they want to.

“Homework, first!” he screams, sincerely doubting that they will listen to him.

He can hear little claws scratching their extremely expensive wooden floors, as Sansa puts it, as the puppies follow their respective masters, excited for them to be home. Though their new dogs can hardly be called puppies now, two years after their birth.

Ghost trots over to Jon, wagging his white tail, and he caresses his furry head. Lady, less childish after bearing a litter, follows her mate, licking Jon's fingertips in search of the remnants of his lunch. When she realized that there is none and that Sansa will not follow him into the house, she returns back to the kitchen for her food.

Jon looks around. Five years have passed since they moved out of the townhouse so graciously offered by their father-in-law, when Jon finally gave voice to his uncomfortable life there, in a house that was not truly theirs. Sansa, ever so pragmatic and understanding announced to her parents that they would be selling the house, which was in their name since the quints' birth, to move out into a new, perfect home.

When Jon saw the farm, a cozy building built on the outskirts of Winterfell, not far enough from their school and work to be a problem, he fell in love and, by the end of the day, they made a bid for it. Two weeks later and they were ready to move in.

Jon walks to the kitchen and picks up an apple, biting hard into the crispy fruit. His lunch happened over three hours before and he is hungry, though it will be hours before dinner time. He hears Alys’, or perhaps Mya’s, soft footsteps on the upper floor, standing inside the shared studio between the two girls, where Alys can practice her ballet dancing — a lysene style that consists of graceful movements and unearthly beauty — and Mya can stretch her body before moving to the backyard for her backflips and cartwheels. The entire reform that transformed their guestroom to a place where the girls could improve their abilities was paid by Catelyn Tully, after an offhand comment made by Jon during their twelfth birthday party.

Jon takes his work briefcase from the car and walks back to his office, crossing Mya and Bo raiding the kitchen for leftover snacks, and Torrhen exiting the bathroom, a thin layer of water covering his dark hair. After his thirteenth birthday, Torr tried to shave his hair in an attempt to look more intimidating, but it didn’t exactly work, his head not being the right shape for it, and after months of relentless tormenting from his brother — unlike with his sister, Brandon and Torrhen have been at odds since birth, — he decided to grow it back out. After a year, they almost look like they did before, with only a couple of months left for him to be as he did before that terrible idea.

Amma is already at his office, sitting by her piano. She looks shocked to see him enter, gray eyes wide and stands up, “Sorry, dad. I didn’t know you were going to use the office. I can practice later.”

Jon raises his hand, accustomed to her nervous way. Amma Snow is full of anxieties.

“Don’t worry, dear,” he says and she visibly relaxes, “I’d love to hear you play something for me.”

Biryuk is by her feet, laying down with her head on her front paws, wagging her tail in preparation for her master's music. Jon ruffles the dog's brown fur, smiling. Her name means bright eyes in the Old Tongue and he was extremely proud of his daughter for such pride for her wildlings heritage.

Amma smiles, tightly. She looks a lot like her mother, though her hair is darker and her eyes are gray like her father's. He is glad that she looks like his wife. At fourteen years old, Amma can hardly not be called beautiful, though hers is more of an unfinished beauty, like a half blooming flower or a painting without the final touches. She is still maturing and there is still time for her to be as great a beauty as Sansa.

Some people, who know some of his history but not all of it, comment that it’s such a shame that none of his children have come out with valyrian features. Jon considers it a blessing.

Amma sits back at the piano seat and Jon lays back on his work chair, placing his briefcase atop the desk and taking out his laptop. He hears the soft keys chiming together, forming a delicate song that he can’t really recognize. Amma has weekly piano lessons at the recreational center, the same place where Brandon practices hockey, Mya attends gymnastics classes, Alys dances and Torrhen attends an advanced painting course. Her skill, like those of the other Snow children, has to be sharpened daily.

Jon opens the PowerPoint app and Amma switches to a more complicated piece with ease, but, as quickly as she started, she stops, placing her hands back on her thighs. She is still wearing the school’s uniform, though she has discarded the shoes, blazer, and tie, wearing only the skirt, shirt and socks. She must be more comfortable this way.

“What are you doing?” she asks, curiously.

“Preparing a lecture,” he answers.

“What’s the subject?” Amma’s eyes light up. She is the only quint to share her father’s love for history.

“War of Dawn.” Jon turns to her, “Do you know of it?”

Amma makes a hand movement that says: _more or less._

“Well,” he murmurs, “Legends say that the War of Dawn was a mythical and magic conflict between northerners, wildlings and the Others. The Battle of Winterfell finally annihilated them, killing the Night King and ending the greatest threat ever seen by the North and mankind.”

Amma’s eyes widen and she leans forward, placing her elbows atop her bent knees, “But I thought White Walkers never existed!”

“And I think so too,” Jon answers, gently, “Some contemporary reports have been found and a popular theory as of today is that the Others were, in actuality, a tribe of wildlings gone rogue, instead of the creatures of ice and darkness described by old nans.”

Amma twists her mouth, thinking, "I read that because so many cultures across the globe describe a long darkness lasting years then it must have happened. What do you think about that, dad?"

Jon sighs, rolling his chair away from his desk, and turns to his daughter, "Well, we know that, in some places, during winter, the sun barely comes out, if it ever does, and there is some evidence that during the Sansian times, winters lasted for years, or seemed to last. It's quite possible that there was a particular winter during those days that was especially rough which created this 'eternal darkness', so to speak." He pauses, letting his words hang in the air, "But eight hundred years have passed and legends get retold and retold, often having bits added or removed. We can't exactly trust a story made to scare children at night."

“Oh,” Amma murmurs, “I see, so…”

Before she can finish, Jon’s phone rings. Feeling guilty, he turns it off without even looking at the caller.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “It will not happen again.”

But he's already lost her. Amma turns back to her piano, shoulders slightly hunched over, and she begins a new complicated piece, her long fingers moving wildly over the black and white keys.

Jon sighs. Teenagers. 

His phone buzzes incessantly and he almost thinks that whoever called him earlier must be calling again, except it suddenly stops and, when Jon picks it up to call back the person bothering him and his child, he sees new text messages popping up.

_Unknown Number: Please accept my call._

_Unknown Number: It's important._

_Unknown Number: Call me back._

_Unknown Number: We need to talk._

_Unknown Number: It's Rhaenys._

_Unknown Number: Your sister._

Heart racing inside his chest, Jon calls his sister.

"_Hey_," she says and her voice is soft, almost childlike.

"Hey," he answers, quietly as he does not want to disturb Amma, "What's wrong?"

Rhaenys sighs on the other side of the call as if her next words will be extremely difficult to hear.

"_Grandmother is dead,_" she says and Jon's heart stops. His ears buzz with the sound of blood rushing to his head. He can't believe, it's too hard to be true, but she is… was almost ninety. It has to be true.

"Ok," he whispers, "Ok. What happened?"

"_She had a fall yesterday,_" she says, "_But it doesn't matter. Father wants you here for the funeral. It's in a sennight, in Summerhall_." She pauses and he can hear her ragged breathing, weak lungs trying to take in the air after years of drug abuse. _My sister is a junkie_, he thinks, patiently waiting for her to compose herself, "_Not just you, though. Your wife and children too."_

Jon shakes so tightly that he thinks he might break his phone.

"Is that a command?" he asks and he can hear the anger on his voice.

"_Yes_," Rhaenys answers and that is the end of the call.

Summerhall. Jon hasn't been there for over twenty years and he certainly doesn't miss it one bit. His nightmares are filled with the old charred ruins, his father's estate and the green southern town filled with Targaryen fans, dying to see members of the ancient dragon house. His children have never been there. Rhaegar always visits them, not the other way around. Jon could certainly continue with this arrangement for more twenty years, if necessary.

And the city has changed much, he knows, since he last stepped foot there. His family changed too. 

Dany has a child now. Maekar, just over twelve years old. Jon has never met his so-called first cousin.

He sighs, rubbing his face. This trip will be the death of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suspend your disbelief about the dogs. I will literally kill myself before I even think about them getting old or dying.
> 
> Also, they have puppies now.
> 
> Many schools here in brazil, where I live, have grades from kindergarten to high school. It's pretty normal. Also, where you live doesn't matter in regards to what school you go to.


	3. Brandon I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "King Jaehaerys once told me that madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born, he said, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the reasons I had the quints aged up is so i can have chapters in their pov. sorry not sorry

“Bo, wake up,” a voice says in his ears, gentle, but firm, so much like his mother’s and when he opens his eyes, he finds blue eyes staring deep into him. Ma’s eyes. Bo groans, turning back into his bed, burying his face in the pillow. Sighing, Bo closes them back again, trying to go back to sleep.

“Not now, ma,” he whispers, drowsy, “Five more minutes.”

A touch, heavy as an iron fist, strikes his shoulders, skinny fingers grabbing his flesh and shaking it wildly, trying to rouse him back up. He groans, throwing his head back, willing himself to go back to sleep. Bo opens his eyes, just a little, just enough to see his attacker, and finds a face as familiar as his own staring back at him. Round eyes, a small mouth, an upturned nose. Dark freckles covering the entirety of the pale white skin and a long, shiny brown hair, falling on her shoulders.

“Wake up, dickface,” Mya says, slapping his face almost a hundred times. It doesn’t hurt, his sister is more rash with her words than her fists, but it’s just enough to be annoying. He kicks her.

“Fuck off,” he murmurs, falling back onto his pillow, ‘“Let me sleep.”

A click. He hears it and, for a second, he wonders what it is, what his older sister has done, but, before he can even open his eyes and see for himself, a bright light shines on his face, burning through his eyelids. He shouts and, without even looking, he kicks and kicks until his foot hits a soft spot, her belly maybe?, and then his sister shouts, kicking him back, calling him names, but Bo is stronger, taller. He’s always been so. She may be a gymnastics prodigium, but he’s a star athlete and so, Mya yelps, falling from his bed and she hits the wood floor with a thud.

But it’s too late now. He’s already awake.

Bo groans and sits up on the bed, the covers all bundled up around him. He sees his sister still on the ground, rubbing her hand against her lower back, her pink lips twisted. The door to his room is open, the corridor’s light spilling in, and, as he looks to the side to see if anyone else is there with them, but no one is. It’s just Mya and him, inside his empty room, with the curtains wide open and the cold summery air invading through the window. His dog, Fang, barks at his sister, Mya’s puppy, licking his nuzzle with a ferocity that he has yet to see in any of his litter-mates, his angry green eyes glowing under the pale moonlight sneaking in from the open window. Nova only stares at him, all white fur and red eyes, as if he’s only a little puppy and she is his tired mother. He turns to Mya again. When she sees him looking at her, Mya climbs back up and her long, skinny legs kick him in the stomach.

“Ow!” he complains and she slaps his head.

“Idiot,” she murmurs.

“What do you want?” he asks, in a rushed whisper. Mya rolls her eyes.

“Everyone is downstairs, in dad’s office,” she answers and pulls his hand, “Come on. Quint Reunion.”

“What?” Bo asks again and he is so confused and tired that she has no trouble pulling him out of the bed, into the corridor. Bo is wearing his winter pajamas, despite being summer, and he pulls on the long sleeves, hiding his fingers. Mya is wearing a long and red nightgown, with black dots and he imagines how warm she must be in it. Northern summers are as harsh as a southron’s winter.

_ Quint reunion. _He can’t really believe it. They haven’t had one of those since they were nine when ma and dad announced they’d be moving out of the house they grew up in. Bo remembers joining his brother and sisters in their old treehouse, heads bent together as desperate words left their lips. After that, no problem seemed big enough to need a quint reunion. 

But now… he knows why they are doing this and he could say that he agreed with his siblings entirely if that’s what they wanted to hear. He only wished to have had the idea first.

Mya lets go of his hand and Fang trots forward, nosing his thigh and Bo places his fingers on his back, caressing his wild black hair. His dog seems to calm enough after that.

“Come on,” his sister says and Bo follows her, entering their dad’s office.

Amma and Alys are already inside, along with a sleepy Torrhen, their puppies sleeping calmly on the floor, and when he enters, they all look up. His siblings with their pajamas, like Bo and Mya, while Torrhen has his too-big-for-his-face glasses on. 

“Good,” AJ murmurs, spinning on her chair. She starts caressing Winter’s belly with her big toe, “You’re here.”

“What’s going on?” Bo asks, sitting in the red couch by the window, “Why are we here?”

“Quint reunion,” Amma says, her voice hoarse with sleep. Bo expects her to continue talking, to explain the need for a quint reunion, but she stops, blinking her gray eyes at him. She has never been a girl with too many words. Bo once heard his mom talk about how she said one word in her infancy before staying quiet until they were six, when, after years of speech therapy and promising her that, if she says anything, they’d get the biggest and most expensive doll they could find, she woke up one day and asked for milk.

Bo looks at Amma and Alys, his twin sisters. They are the mirror images of each, literally. While AJ is right-handed, Amma favors her left. Even Amma's internal organs are on the opposite side of Alys', a clear case of _situs inversus. _ Unlike him and Torr, the two girls were close as can be since their birth and took pride in being identical twins.

“We’re going south in five days to meet dad’s family,” Torrhen continues, picking up where their sister stopped, “We need to talk about this.”

Mya nods, stern. Have they been planning this without him knowing? With Mya in it too? But… she’s _his _best friend, not theirs!

“We don’t need to talk about this,” Bo murmurs, “We know dad’s family. They all came here for our tenth birthday, remember? Grandfather, aunt Rhaenys, gran-gran. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Yes,” Alys continues, rolling her eyes, “But not everyone. There are still two Targaryens missing. Daenerys and Maekar.”

Mya looks at her sister with a strange expression on her face, “Daddy never talks about his aunt.”

“Exactly,” AJ says and Bo sees that she is the ringleader in that business. She is the one who had this whole idea first, “Why have we never met her?”

Bo shrugs, “Maybe dad just doesn’t want to see her. Maybe he doesn’t like her and that’s why she’s not invited here.” He looks at his siblings, his quint set. They shared a womb, twenty and seven weeks together, the first quint set to have ever survived birth in Westeros. He and Torrhen came from the same embryo as did Amma and AJ’S... and yet, they are normal brothers and sisters, without that special that so many multiples have. Perhaps, the fact that they don’t have any sibling with a different age makes that difference. “Maybe we should go back to sleep and stop prodding around dad’s past.”

“Maybe not,” Amma says, “Just shut up and listen, Bo.”

Bo groans, flopping down on the couch next to Torrhen, and his little brother scoots away, his dog growling at Fang. Bo remembers being four and angry, so angry that he thought he could explode. He remembers trying to stick marbles in Torrhen’s nose or hitting his brother until his father took him away. He remembers his mother and father disassembling Torrhen’s bed and taking it out of their shared room. Mya was his roommate afterward and remains to this day, even ten years later.

“While Mya was waking you up, Amma, Torrhen and I started searching and I think we found some interesting stuff to know our aunt well,” Alys says, “I’ll read it aloud to you too.”

_ Daenerys Targaryen (born in the twenty-third day of the tenth month, 984 AC) is a Westerosi internet celebrity, beauty Youtuber, makeup artist, and entrepreneur. She is the founder and owner of Dany Cosmetics. _

_ She has a youtube channel with a large following, over fifteen million subscribers, and her net worth is estimated to be around fifty million golden dragons. Daenerys is renown for her exclusive lines and collections, one of which included the donation of its profits in its entirety to a Women’s Shelter in Westeros’ capital, King’s Landing, where she lived at the time. After the birth of her son, Maekar Targaryen, she moved back to her hometown: Summerhall, Dornish Marches. _

“Google Maekar Targaryen,” Torrhen asks, serious.

“Alright,” AJ answers, turning around to type in their father’s laptop. How she got the password, Bo does not know, “There are few kings from before the Revolution with this name, so I’ll have to get a little bit more specific. Maekar… Dany’s son. Here! Holy shit, he has his own Wikipedia page.”

_ Maekar Targaryen (born on the fifth day of the third month, 1021) is the son of Daenerys Targaryen and an unknown father. His mother is the CEO of Dany Cosmetics and Maekar has appeared in ads for her company since his birth when she released her collection _ Sugar Twice _in celebration of his arrival. Maekar is currently twelve years old and the sole heir to his mother’s fortune. _

_ The identity of his father has been a source of questioning and controversy around Daenerys, as she has refused to name the man since her pregnancy was announced. Many pages online believe that the father is Daario Naharis, a boyfriend of Dany at the time, or Drogo Khal, her ex-husband. Both have publicly declared that they are not the father, while Daario wished Daenerys’ happiness and joy in raising her son. According to Dany, Maekar was conceived with the help of a donor whose name she knows, but will not say to protect his privacy. Maekar doesn’t know his name. _

_ Since his birth, Dany has been very open about his health problems, which are numerous and grave. According to reports, Maekar had forty surgeries done to improve his condition of living before the age of five. A picture posted by Daenerys on her private Instagram showed that Maekar's legs were twisted and full of scars. He uses crutches to move around, or a wheelchair if the distance is too great. _

There were some pictures with it too, old Instagram posts and recent paparazzo shots, and Bo saw a little boy, pale and scrawny, standing beside a tall woman with silver-white hair. He was small when compared to his mother and seemed ready to faint, or that a strong gust of wind could knock him down. His hair is the silvery valyrian of Bo's paternal family, but with a long and stern face and deep gray eyes.

“He looks like us, Bo,” Torrhen says and that is the first time in the entire week that he spoke directly to his brother.

“Yes,” Bo responds, looking at his identical twin and finding the same long face and silver eyes as Maekar staring back at him, “He does.”

* * *

Rhys Flint looks extremely well that day, with his bleached white hair and shiny brown eyes, or so Bo thinks. He watches the senior with a careful gaze, hiding in his locker and pretending to be putting his books and materials inside it. His crush is talking to a boy, a friend of his from the school's band, holding the case with his violin in his right hand. He is wearing a white shirt and a navy sweater, but not his blazer. If he were from any other grade, an inspector would write him a note, but Rhys is a senior and people tend to close their eyes for that sort of transgression as it's his last year at the Institute.

Amma is his friend, or so she claims to be. They are in the same youth orchestra together, back at the Recreational Center. For half a second, Bo wishes he had his sister's perfect pitch and musical talent if only to see him every day for practice. Sometimes, when his family goes to see Amma's recitals, he pays attention not to the piano at the front, but to the string quartet in the back.

Rhys looks away from his friend, right into Bo, as if sensing that he is staring, and Bo looks away, cheeks burning brightly. When he turns back, five minutes later, Rhys is already gone.

_ Damnit, _Bo thinks, taking his chemistry book and pushing it inside his backpack. Next time, he decides, next time he will say something or wave. He won't act like a fucking moron again.

“Hey, Snow!” a voice shouts by his side and Bo looks over, already dreading what will happen next. He sees Tommen Mallister walking in his direction, all gangly limbs, and a hooked nose. The boy is being followed by his two sidekicks, Viktor Umber and Willem Reed, and they have a sadistic smile on their ugly faces. When he gets close enough for Bo to smell the sweat on his skin, Tommen leans on the locker next to him, “Interesting lesson today at biology class, don’t you think?”

“What the fuck do you want, Mallister?” Bo asks, closing his locker. The sound of metal hitting metal rings in Bo’s ears, but he doesn’t mind. Instead, he stays quiet and looks in the blue eyes of his rival. Tommen has hated Bo since the day he snatched the position of center in the school’s hockey team.

_ Stay cool, Bo, _ he tells himself, _ Remember what Coach Karr said. Another fight will give you suspension. _

“I just wanna talk to you, bro,” the other says, raising his hands, “Calm down, boy.” He looks at his friends, “Vik, Will and I were just thinking how fascinating it all was and we started wondering if you thought it so too.”

Bo stays quiet. He remembers that day’s biology lesson. Mrs. Preaker had been teaching them about genetics that entire year; recessive and dominant genes, autosomes, chromosomes. That particular day, however, she had decided to approach the topic of inbreeding, its dangers and why most populations in history had taboos or laws against incest.

Most populations, of course, except the Valyrians.

“The Targaryens married brother and sister for centuries, right?” Tommen asks, turning to his friends and Viktor nods excitedly, “Almost a millennium, I think. That’s why most of them went mad.” He laughs, loudly, and Bo feels his blood boil, “Hey, Bo, isn’t your dad a Targaryen? Half, I mean, but it’s hard to clean a lineage with just two generations.” Tommen slaps Bo’s chest, still laughing, and he closes his fist, feeling his nails stick in his palm, leaving crescent indentations on his skin, “Madness runs in your family, Bo Targaryen.”

He sighs, trying very hard to calm himself down. He can’t fight, not again. Mallister knows that he can’t get into trouble; that is why he’s provoking him. He just wants to be on the team. He just wants to be on the team. He just wants to be on the team.

“I’m not a Targaryen,” Bo replies, “I’m a Snow.”

“Yes, you are a Targaryen,” Willem murmurs, giggling like a pig, “Can’t change your blood, Bobo. Everything's better within the family, right? Everyone knows how you and Mya are _ super _close.” He laughs, “Amma and AJ could be the same person, for all I care!”

“Poor Torrhen,” Viktor says, “He gets left out of all the fun.”

“They are quints! Shared a womb, a roof. I’m sure they share everything together, including each other!” Tommen suggests, “Right, Bo?”

That is enough for him. He had taken enough shit from Mallister to hold on any longer. Bo drops his backpack onto the ground, near his feet, and closes his hand into a fist, hitting it against Tommen’s nose. The boy, who is shorter, but no less stronger than Bo, charges and tackles him, taking advantage of his broad shoulders to bring them both on to the floor. A wave of pain begins in Bo’s lower back, but he’s too pent up, adrenaline running through his veins, to even care about it.

He smashes an elbow into the side of Mallister’s skull, the soft spot high on the temple, and he groans, grabbing his head with both arms. Swiftly, he shifts places with them, trapping Tommen underneath his body and maybe, a more centered person would stop the fight right then and there when he could claim self-defense and get away with no suspension and light detention, but Bo Snow is not a centered person. Has never been.

He slaps his right palm down on the boy’s face, shattering his nose, and a gurgle of blood leaks from his nostrils, but Bo continues. He feels like a mad man, body burning, and as Tommen’s friends scream for him to get up and _fight back, gods damnit! _, he lands punch after punch on his cheek, his nose, his eyes. Anywhere he can reach, really.

Bo has known Tommen since they were seven, knows how he fights, and so, every punch, every kick that he tries to land on him, he expects it, anticipates it. Stops it.

“Shut the fuck up about my family!” he shouts, punching Tommen’s mouth and he spits blood, a hot gush of it hitting Bo’s face, but he doesn’t care, he can’t care. A teeth, white and shiny, falls out, stopping at the floor next to Tommen’s chin, “Shut the fuck up! Don’t you ever talk about my family, you fucking dick! You don’t know shit! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!”

Two strong arms close around Bo’s waist and he is hoisted up, held against a man’s chest. He struggles against the restrains, kicking and hitting whoever is holding him, but the man, a teacher probably, holds on. Another teacher helps Tommen get up and Bo can genuinely see the damage that he has done to him. He barely looks human; his face is swollen, there is bleeding cut to his cheek and his nose is broken. It’s bad, but it’s not the worst Bo has ever seen.

“Fuck you!”, he shouts and another teacher comes running to help whoever is holding him, two other strong arms holding him back from inflicting more pain on Tommen Mallister, “Fuck you! You’re fucking dead! I’m gonna kill you, you piece of shit!”

* * *

They make Bo wait for his parents to come pick him up. Mya sends him a text message saying that she and others took the bus, but Mr. Stone takes his phone away before he can answer her, staring down at Bo from his desk, brown eyes wide. The Institute’s principal doesn’t look too thrilled to see him in his office and Bo can’t help but agree.

Coach Karr is there too, arms crossed, and Bo feels like crying underneath his hard gaze. 

His knuckles are bleeding, tiny little cuts over the bones, and he can feel the kicks that Tommen managed to land in his ribs every time he breathes. He inhales, then exhales, and it is as if his ribcage will implode with the sheer amount of pain. He can taste the blood in his mouth and his lower lip is swollen. The school’s nurse cleaned a cut on his forehead that was bleeding profusely.

Tommen has been taken to the hospital after his dad made some stupid comment about _boys will be boys _and his mom cried when she saw his face. The principal’s secretary hid Bo in the bathroom when the Mallisters came, so they wouldn’t attempt anything against him, especially when seeing the difference between the two boys.

The door opens and Bo turns around in the chair, just enough to see without hurting more his injured ribs. His parents walk in.

Ma has changed out of her blue nurse's uniform and is wearing dark brown pants and a white buttoned-up shirt. Her hair is up in a bun and she isn't wearing any makeup, her face twisted in a scowl. Dad is holding the door open for her and he looks exactly the way he did when they left the house that morning: yellow sweater, brown blazer, and reading glasses. He doesn't look happy.

Mr. Stone stands up as soon as he notices them, but Bo stays put in his seat. It's best for all of them.

"Mr. and Mrs. Snow, it's good to see you both," the principal murmurs, shaking Bo's father's hand.

His parents sit beside him and Bo feels like throwing up.

“Mr. Stone, my husband and I are ashamed,” his mother says, holding his father’s hand, “We thought he was going down a good path, with new friends, and now this fight… It’s not shocking, though I wish it was.” Sansa Snow sighs, “We trust your judgment. Whatever punishment you think is necessary, we will abide by it.”

“And we are willing to pay for Tommen’s medical expenses,” his father continues, “Anything to make this right.”

Mr. Stone smiles and his wrinkly face almost glows. Coach Karr continues staring at Bo.

“Unfortunately, this is not the first time Brandon has got into a fight,” the principal says, “We have a strict policy here at this school and he was aware of it.”

“Do you wish to expel him?” his father asks and Bo can hear the fear in his voice.

“With any other boy, I might,” Mr. Stone says, “But Eddard Stark is one of our most important funders and we do not wish to kick his grandson out.” Bo doesn’t say anything. He knows that his privileged birth just saved his spot at the Lonely Hills Institute, “Suspension is our second option. At least a week.”

“That is not all,” Coach Karr says, “I told Bo that another fight would get him off the team. I can’t just forget my threats.” Bo doesn’t say anything, but he feels as if he has just been punched in the gut, his breath leaving him in quick gushes, “He won’t be allowed to play in this school, until next season, when he can tryout again.”

His father nods, “My grandmother has died, Mr. Stone, and we are going to spend a few days in Summerhall for her funeral. After that, Brandon will obey his suspension and will stay off the team until next year.”

“Very well,” Mr. Stone answers and then looks at Bo, whose head is bent forward, shameful tears prickling at his eyes, “Do you wish to say anything in your defense, Brandon? I have three witnesses that say you and Tommen talk for a long time before the fight began.”

He shakes his head. He can’t speak those words in front of his parents, how Tommen and his assholes friends implied that he was… that he was… that he and his siblings were… He can’t even think it.

Mr. Stone purses his lips and Bo can see how disappointed he is, “I know you’re better than this, Brandon. I hope this trip helps you realize that.”

He doesn’t say anything and his parents talk with the principal and Coach Karr for a few more minutes before they shake hands once again and leave, Bo following them closely. His parents don’t speak for the entire way to the car, but he sees them exchanging glances and it’s as if a thousand words were exchanged between them.

His father’s car is one of the only vehicles still in the parking lot, along with Coach Karr’s and the principal’s, and Bo opens the backseat door, climbing in. He imagines his mom left the van that she uses to drive the entire family around back at the farm before his father picked her up for them to go together to his school. He wonders what they talked about before arriving.

His parents buckle up, but dad doesn’t start the car and they stay in silence, waiting for the other to speak first. Jon’s head is bent forward and he refuses to look at his son, while Sansa turns to Bo in a sudden movement. Her blue eyes are burning.

“Help me understand,” she says, “You managed to escape at the office, but you will not escape it here. Why did you punch him? What could he possibly have said to warrant you to break his nose and make him lose two teeth?”

“Does it matter?” Bo asks, looking her in the eyes, “I’m already off the team and suspended. Talking will not help.”

“It will make us less angry!" his father bellows and Bo turns to him, "Because believe us, Brandon, we are extremely angry at you right now!"

Dad turns on the car and they drive off the parking lot.

“Five fights this year. A second boy in the hospital,” his mother says, “And you are sarcastic. Do you really want us to take you off the team at the recreational center as well?”

Bo looks at her and he can see his face in the rearview window. He looks insane, blood trailing down his face, and there is a violet sheen on his gray eyes. 

“Do it,” he answers, “I dare you. It won’t change what I am.”

His father laughs, low and fake, and the sound itches Bo’s skin, “And what are you, Brandon? Enlighten us.”

“A Targaryen,” he says.

Jon’s face darkens and he tightens his grip on the steering wheel. Sansa places her hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down

“You’re not a Targaryen,” he murmurs.

“Yes, I am,” Bo answers, “You may deny it, but that won’t change the truth.”

Dad sighs and, taking advantage of the red light in front of them, closes his eyes, “You’re just upset because of your great-grandmother. You were her favorite and I understand that you are trying to release that pain, but you must face the consequences of your actions, son.”

Bo wants to laugh, he wants to scream and he wants to cry, all at once. However, instead of doing any of those things, he smiles, sharp as a dagger.

“What’s the old saying, dad?” he asks, turning to the window, “Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin and the world holds its breath to see how it will land. Madness or greatness. I suppose we all know which one is mine.” He twists his lips, a questioning expression covering his face, “How many child psychologists did I see before the age of ten, when you were trying to understand why I used Torrhen as a punching bag? Fifty, maybe a hundred? Can’t remember the exact numbers.”

“You’re not mad,” his mother says, “You’re not like them, my child. You’re better.”

“I like violence!” he shouts and that is the truth, isn’t it? Why else would he get into fights? Why else does he enjoy the feeling of a bone cracking underneath his fist? Why did they put him in ice hockey so he could try and get all that anger and energy out?

“This isn’t you, Brandon,” his father murmurs, gently and Bo doesn’t want that. He wants dad to shout at him, to hit his face, to cave his skull in, but that is not the way of Jon Snow, “You’re not a Targaryen. You’re a Snow and a Stark. An accident of paternity doesn’t change that.” He shrugs, confused, “You’re just… Angry.” 

“And why am I this way, dad?” he questions, voice rising until that’s all he can hear, alongside the blood rushing through his ears, “Do you think it has been easy being your son? The two most powerful families in the entire history of our country, Targaryen and Stark, together at last. And if that wasn’t all, I’m a fucking wildling as well.”

“Brandon!” his parents shout and his father hits the brake, stopping the car completely.

“Apologize to your father now!” his mother demands, but Bo has had enough. He opens his door, unbuckling his seatbelt, and leaves the car, taking advantage of his quick legs to be far from his parents before they can even see what is happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the instagram post i made when i was still planning to have the babies as toddlers and i didnt want it go to waste, so imagine it as an oooold instagram post, from when maekar was a little under the age of 2


	4. Sansa I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if he's right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!! So sorry for the delay but I was unable to write this chapter and I mean really!!!!! It was insane and the only thing I could manage was this teeny tiny chapter!
> 
> I just started college so it's likely that the next chapter will take longer to come as well, but I promise that it will come!

Brandon looks like Jon.

He has a long and stern face, usually twisted in a scowl, and deep gray eyes. Sansa used to think that he would turn out like his father, kind and clever. She used to hope it. When did this end? When did she stop hoping that her Brandon would be good and intelligent, reaching high with his ambitions? It happened without her even noticing, this soft and innate sense of hopelessness taking over her entire body.

He also looks like her father. She has seen enough pictures of young Eddard Stark to know that it’s true. His nose is thin, which points downwards. His eyebrows are thick and high on his forehead as if he is always surprised. Her father went to law school and became the state’s governor. Did she ever wish for the same to Brandon? She can’t remember.

Dad never showed her many pictures of her uncle, who died in a bar fight when she was two. Her mom explained it as too hurtful for him to even recall that his older brother ever existed. Does Brandon look alike, in any way other than personality? She thinks so.

“It’s cursed,” Sansa whispers and her words hang in the air, weighing the entire mood down.

Jon is standing near the door, leaning his body on the frame. His arms are crossed. He carried Brandon from the car to his room, after they found him sleeping under the hockey bleachers at the community center. He must have been so tired, never rousing from sleep during the ride home. Fighting must exhaust a person, though that is only Sansa’s guess. She wouldn’t know.

“What is?” he asks.

“The name.” She turns to him. “Brandon.”

Jon shrugs, “I think it’s a nice name.”

“And it is,” Sansa says, “My ancestor, Brandon the Builder, founded House Stark and the name has existed in every generation since, but…” She hesitates, chewing on her lower lip. “I have never met a Brandon that lead a happy life.”

Her son is so tiny on his bed. It reminds her of those early weeks of his life, back when he was fighting to survive, or even during his illness. I have done everything for him. She carried him in her belly for twenty-seven weeks, felt him kicking her insides and growing against her ribs. She cried when seeing him, so tiny and helpless, barely surviving his early birth. Sansa fed him at her own breast, despite the aches and difficulties that came with nursing. She spent day and night by his side when he had meningitis, not seeing her other children for two weeks until he left the hospital, save for quick moments when she and Jon would trade places. Brandon is her boy, her oldest boy, and her blood.

“What do you mean?”

He is taller than her, has been since his sudden growth spurt at age thirteen. He is strong. He started playing hockey when he was six, and his body has grown used to distress and injuries on the ice rink. That’s why he always wins his fights. He’s tall and strong, too strong for a boy of fourteen. And too violent as well.

Sansa touches her cheeks and feels them wet. She hadn’t even realized that she was crying.

“My uncle died in a bar fight when I was two,” she whispers, “Someone touched his girlfriend at the time and he got angry, beat them up. He was drunk. My mother said that he was always drunk.” She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. If she concentrates, she can smell the old hospital, hear the soft beeping of the machine keeping his heart beating, “Someone hit him on the head with a beer bottle. He suffered major brain damage and was in a coma for a month.” Her father finally had enough after that month and decided to turn off the machines keeping him alive. Sansa never heard anyone talking about her uncle ever again.

Brandon snores, softly, and she smiles. His face softens in his sleep, and those are the moments that he looks most like Torrhen. It's funny, Sansa thinks, that he only looks like his identical twin when he's asleep. Torr is so serious, and Brandon is always laughing or shouting. Sometimes, it's hard to remember that they came from a single embryo 

She strokes his face, pushing the black threads away from his eyes, and he doesn't move. When the quints were little, it was decided not to cut his hair, while systematically cutting Torrhen's, to help people telling them apart.

"One bad event doesn't curse a name," Jon whispers and her smile dies.

She is still turned to Brandon when she answers, "I was sixteen when Bran had his accident. He was twelve." She shakes her head and tears come to her eyes, "Do you know what it's like to tell a twelve-year-old that he'll never walk again?"

Jon shakes his head. 

"He went from this happy kid who was always smiling and playing jokes to a depressed and introverted young man." Those years were terrible for her family and putting Bran on suicide watch was even harder, "He only changed when he met Jojen after his previous caretaker retired. After that, it was as if my little brother was back."

She turns to Jon.

"What if he's right?"

"Who is?" Jon frowns and steps forward, getting closer and closer to her until he's able to sit by her side on the bed.

"Bo," she murmurs, "What if he's right and he's this way because he is a Targaryen?"

Jon closes his eyes and clenches his fists. Sansa knows how this subject is sensitive to him and she regrets bringing it up, but some things must be said for one to have closure.

"He's not a Targaryen, " Jon says.

Sansa shakes her head.

"I know, I know," she murmurs, "I'm sorry, but your father is the product of a brother-sister relationship, as was _his_ father. A little boy's body can only take up so much inbreeding."

"My mother and father were not related," he says, "Neither are we. Brandon is not inbred."

Santa smiles and puts her head on her face, pinching the bridge of her nose. Gods, how could she even consider it? He's right. As always, Jon is right.

He places his hand over hers and she feels her entire body relaxing. Her muscles loose with his smell and touch. Sansa leans forward and buries her head on the curve of his neck.

"Do you think it's because he's gay?" he whispers in her ear, "He has yet to come out to us and even Torrhen knows."

Sansa thinks about that. Her son, her darling son, is not so smooth as he thinks he is, hiding his obvious crush on Rhys Flint. More than once, she has caught him waiting near the dressing rooms at the Youth Center, after one of Amma's recitals, gathering courage to talk to the older boy. He would give her a flimsy excuse and she'd pretend to accept it, acting as if she doesn't know.

If Bo is not ready to come out, then Sansa will not force him to do so.

"He can't possibly think that we care about that," Sansa says.

"Maybe he's just scared," Jon answers, "I remember being a fourteen-year-old boy. It's tough."

Sansa presses her lips together.

"If that's the reason, then he might get better after he admits the truth. He might not get into fights anymore."

"I hope so," Jon says and stands up, holding his hand out for her,"Maybe this forced trip will be good to him. A change of scenery."

Sansa nods and stands up as well, taking Jon's finger in her own.

"I hope so," she says and they leave Brandon's room holding hands.


	5. Daenerys I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaegar doesn’t know that Jon is Maekar’s father and that may be for the best. He’d have done something about it, perhaps threaten the Stark whore with this knowledge and that’s not what Dany wants.

The man seated across the desk is tall but fat. He has a kind smile and beady watery eyes. His moon-shaped face seems gentle enough to trick many, but Daenerys is not one to be lied to. She is the dragon’s daughter, the blood of the Old Valyria. As he tells his friend to start filming, she puts on her friendliest smile as they discuss the sales and expectations for her future make-up palette. A boy next to the man, his younger brother, Dickon maybe?, is filming and Dany can feel the camera focused on her face.

Greyworm is speaking, she notices, and his voice is high. No one is talking except him, as he quickly explains that Islander, a new make-up store that started five years ago, must step up their game, or not receive the exclusivity on their collaboration

“I have a guy in Essos ready to receive fifty thousand unities,” he says and Samwell’s eyes go wide as he curses under his breath. “Islander needs to offer us a better deal or we won’t sell them the products.”

“Yeah,” Dany says, trying to keep her voice sweet and gentle. Gods, these past weeks with these men have been pulling every nerve, demanding every ounce of patience that she has. Samwell is an idiot, Dickon is rude and she is ready to be done with these dealerships and just receive her money. “If they don’t want it, then they don’t want and we’ll just use our website and receive every coin that comes our way.” She shrugs, “Sometimes, people are blind and can’t see the good in front of them.”

_ And I’m one to know it.  _ She thinks of Jon, her beloved Jon, the one whom she’s meant to have, and the wolf bitch that stole him away. He is there, with her and her dirty littler of pups, in the cold North, away from his family and his  _ true _ son. She had hoped that he might have reached out to her, once dear Maekar was born, or even come visit him, but he hadn’t. He never cared and she tried not to show how upset she was. How upset she still is. Dany never told Jon that he is Maekar’s father, but he should have felt something, his own blood calling to him. He should have known.

She tells herself that it’s because of the distance. Out of sight, out of my mind. He doesn’t even know Maekar, but this visit will change. That’s what she told Rhaegar, once she convinced him to allow Jon to come to the funeral. Seeing his son will make Jon realize that he has neglected his family for too long, that he needs to be with them, and not those dirty first men.

Rhaegar doesn’t know that Jon is Maekar’s father and that may be for the best. He’d have done something about it, perhaps threaten the Stark whore with this knowledge and that’s not what Dany wants. She wants to wait until her son is at least thirteen, so he can choose where he wants to live if it ever comes to a custody battle. She’d be damned if she allowed that wolf bitch to raise her son amongst her own disgusting litter of dogs.

Dany looks at Greyworm. He’s taking notes and his assistant, a young college student called Mossador, types away on a computer. Dany’s own assistance is recording the conversation on her phone, although discreetly, in case it’s ever needed as evidence.

“Maybe Moonbloom will have a better offer,” she murmurs, keeping her features soft, “We can’t degrade ourselves just to sell, I mean we deserve more. We’re not whores.” 

“Exactly,” Samwell says and his voice is meek, almost rat-like. He annoys her when he acts weak and as if he doesn’t plan to steal everything away from her as if he isn’t planning to do something terrible and take everything away from her. I see you, she wants to scream at him, I see what you want to do! She wants to take his head and crack it open, just to ready all his little plottings and plans inside.

_ Calm, Dany. Remember what your therapist said. Not everything in your head is real. Not real. Not real. Not real. _

“With the series and everything coming up, we can expect to sell out in hours, maybe even minutes,” Greyworm says.

“Fuck!” Samwell says and then he laughs, like this whole thing is a joke and not a multi-million deal, like if it doesn’t work, Dany won’t be in dept. She wants to slap him. She wants to spit on him. She wants to do so much more than just sit there and smile, appearing the perfect angel that everyone must believe she’s in.

The door to her office opens and Greyworm turns his back to see who it is, ready to scream for barging into a very important meeting, but he stops when he sees. Dany stops too and her heart is on her neck, beating wildly against her soft throat. It’s Sandor Clegane, her son’s bodyguard. It was time to pick up Maekar in school, is something wrong? Why is he here and not at her house, protecting her boy?

“What is it?” she asks and her voice is unsure and wavering. She imagines everything. A seizure, an accident, one of her enemies tried to kill him. Speak, she wants to scream, speak and tell me what is wrong with my Maekar!

Sandor almost smiles, although Daenerys doesn’t think she has ever seen him actually grin once since he came into her employment, twelve years ago.

“The little lord wanted to see you, before going home,” he murmurs and her anxiety deflates, her heart calming down and Dany smiles.

“Good,” she says and stands up. Everyone else stands as well and Dany tries not to show her pride. It’s only her right to be respected in such a way. She turns to Samwell, “You haven’t met my son, have you?”

“No,” he says and follows her to the door, talking to his cameramen to follow him. Despite their series being filmed for over six weeks, they hadn’t really filmed Maekar yet, as he had a terrible attack of pneumonia and his little body couldn’t handle fighting on its own. Daenerys had Sam promise not to film any of Maekar’s trips to the hospital, or even to acknowledge them on camera, as she didn’t want to appear weak in such a business setting.

Maekar is on the corridor, spinning his wheelchair around, and a girl is talking to him, maybe a newcomer, and there is a smile on his handsome long face. When he hears the soft click of her high heels, he turns and his smile grows bigger.

“Mother!” he says and she smiles, hugging his small body and kissing his cheek.

“What are you doing here?” she murmurs. feeling truly happy for the first time in hours, “You should be home.”

“Thought maybe we could go eat some McDonald’s,” he says and, before she can answer, he realizes Samwell and Dickon Tarly by her side, “Oh, hi!”

“Hi, Maekar,” he says and offers his hand for a shake. Maekar giggles and shakes it, before wheeling around to talk with Dickon.

“Is that a real camera?” Maekar asks, excitedly, and Dickon smiles, nodding, “I have some cameras too, you know? I’m planning to be a filmmaker. Maybe make some documentaries?”

Her son is very charming and so happy. The doctors said that none of his illnesses, which were mostly genetic, affected his mind and he didn’t seem to mind being trapped in a broken body. He is her rock.

“Yeah,” Samwell says, “We’re actually doing a docuseries now.”

“Really?” Maekar asks, “About what?”

“About the beauty industry,” Dickon explains and then places the camera very close to Maekar’s eyes, “Do you have any insider’s tip you can give us?”

“Hum…” Maekar makes a face, “I don’t think so!” he laughs and Dickon laughs as well.

Dany watches it all by the side, thinking,  _ Can’t you see how perfect he is, Jon? Can’t you see how everyone loves him? Just hang tight, my love. We are going to be a family soon. _


End file.
